The Maverick's Bride (7 page)

E
mma leaned her head against the railcar window and gazed out at the placid blue ocean. The train had pulled out of the station not long ago, and now it chugged across the three-quarter-mile Salisbury Bridge. Cissy sat on the seat across from Emma, a French novel lying unattended in her lap as she stared down at her hands. No doubt her sister was dwelling on Dirk, Emma supposed.

As the train rolled onto the mainland from Mombasa island, Emma drew her focus from her sister. At last—the protectorate in all its raw majesty. The train’s twelve-mile-an-hour pace provided a constantly changing panorama. It pulled away from the palm trees and mango and banana groves. Into view came huge gray baobabs, lush green acacias and verdant underbrush.

Emma scanned the terrain for signs of wild game. Although her gaze was fixed on the landscape, she could not help overhearing an urgent conversation in the berth behind her.

“Patterson had been at Tsavo only two or three days when the first coolie was dragged off.” Nicholas Bond was making an effort to whisper, but he was forced to speak loudly enough to be heard above the rattle of the car.

“How long ago was this?” Emma’s father asked, his voice tense.

“Two months, sir. Since that time the killings have escalated. Patterson’s been after the lions nearly every night, but so far they’ve eluded him.”

“And how many lions are there?”

“Two. That’s for certain—only two. One would think we could bag them, but they are clever. And of course the workers’ camps are spread so far along the rail line that the lions have quite a feeding ground, so to speak.”

“Has Patterson tried poison?”

Nicholas hesitated a moment. “The lions have acquired a taste for human flesh, sir. They much prefer a live coolie to a poisoned dead donkey.”

At this Godfrey Pickering gave a loud snort. “This is unconscionable, man. Can the workers not build fences?”

“They’ve erected large hedges of dry thorn brush around the tents, but the lions are able to jump over or go through every barrier. These two beasts are incredibly large and crafty, sir. The coolies call them
shaitani
—devils.”

A knot of fear twisted in the pit of Emma’s stomach. She shifted the heavy white pith helmet in her lap. Adam’s gun lay hidden in the cloth chatelaine bag beside her. It comforted her…not so much for the protection it offered, but for memories it stirred of the man who had held her with such tenderness.

Thankful her path would never cross Adam King’s again on this vast continent, Emma repented her thoughts about him. Married or not, the American was certainly not part of God’s plan for her life. She had heard His voice and seen her path of service stretch out before her. Nowhere had she glimpsed a handsome cowboy on a black horse.

Forcing her thoughts away from Adam, she wondered where she and Cissy would sleep. Would they be safe from the marauding lions? Emma had never fired a weapon in her life and she could not imagine defending herself against a hungry beast.

Eager to stretch her legs, she stood and lifted the glass window. A gust of clean, cool breeze blew into the stuffy car and tugged a lock of hair from her chignon. Golden in the late morning sunlight, the wisp danced about her chin as she propped her hands on the sill and leaned out the window.

There! Beneath an enormous baobab tree in the far distance stood a great red-gray elephant. With tiny eyes it squinted at the train, then lifted a long wrinkled trunk to test the air. Emma drew in a deep breath, but as she took in the scenery, an unexpected sight startled her into a loud gasp. Could it be?

Leaning farther out, she saw spurred boots, one crossed casually over the other, protruding from a window several cars forward. Her fingers tightened on the sill and she let out a small cry as she drew in her head.

“What is it?” Cissy rose. “Do you see a lion? Let me have a look.” She pushed her sister to one side and peered out. In an instant she was back in the railcar and pulling Emma onto the berth beside her.

“It’s your cowboy!” she whispered. Her eyes were wide with excitement. “He followed you onto the train, Emma. You must go and speak with him.”

“I can’t talk to Adam King. Think what would happen if I were discovered.”

Cissy’s eyes darted to her sister’s bruised cheek and puffy lip. Then she shook her head. “He needs you. He told you that. And he promised to protect you, Emma. I’m certain he will. He’s that sort of man. Like Dirk.”

Emma looked out the window at the tangle of shrubbery brushing past. Adam King did seem that sort of man. But why should she trust someone she knew so little about? Nicholas had vilified him. His behavior had hardly proven him a gentleman. Yet there was something about him…

Her thoughts slipped back to her first view of the man. He had been no more than a dark form on a black horse, yet he had cradled a child so gently.

“If opportunity presents itself, I shall speak to him,” Emma said with quiet determination. “Yet I’m certain he is not on this train because of me. He didn’t even know I’d be here.”

“But he did! I heard you tell him we were leaving on the eight o’clock train. Emma, he’s following you, protecting you even without your permission. He saw what Father did.”

Cissy glanced over the back of the berth to where her father and Nicholas Bond were still deep in conversation. Then she tucked her arm through her sister’s.

“I know men,” Cissy whispered, “and I can see that the cowboy has taken a fancy to you.”

“You know far less than you claim, believe me.” Annoyed, Emma shoved the wisp of hair back into her chignon. Even though he had denied it, he must be married. Emma had seen the letter. She felt sure that somewhere in America his wife was preparing for a governor’s inauguration—and waiting for the husband who would accompany her. If Adam wanted to talk with Emma, it was only because she was a nurse. His ill friend must need one badly.

Her cheeks hot, Emma leaned back on the leather seat and shut her eyes. To imagine that there could be any hope for true love with such a man was impossible. Yet without success, she tried to resist the unbidden memory of his arms holding her close as they danced around the ballroom.

Rising suddenly, she grabbed the iron handles and slammed the window shut.

Lunch arrived and went away again—steaming cream soup with lobster soufflé, hardly in keeping with the sweltering heat inside the railcar and the increasing herds of game outside. Afterward, Nicholas chose to settle himself beside Emma and expound on his dreams for the railway. She made an effort to listen, but her attention slipped away to the changing landscape outside the window.

After crossing the Rabai Hills, the train descended to the wide expanse of the Taru Desert. Thin scrub thorn brush and stunted trees dotted the arid wilderness, so different from the wooded lands nearer the coast. Layers of fine red dust carpeted everything, sifting into the train so that Cissy rose again and again to shake out her white linen skirt.

Late in the afternoon, the train stopped at a station labeled in proud black letters,
Voi.
A major stop along the line, Voi boasted a crisp whitewashed station building and several stone houses. Nicholas accompanied Godfrey Pickering off the train, leaving the two young women alone in the silent car. Cissy locked eyes with her sister for a moment, then she rose to peer out the window.

“He’s there, on the platform.” Her voice quivered with excitement. “He’s standing with some other men—railway workers, I imagine. He’s walking down the platform toward us now. He’s—oh, Emma!—he’s looking this way.”

Cissy drew back from the window. Fingertips covering her mouth, she focused on her sister. Emma stared back for a moment. Then, heart hammering, she slid across the seat and spotted the tall figure.

Adam leaned a shoulder against the blue wooden post of
the station. He had one thumb hooked on his pocket, and a revolver rested in a holster tied to his thigh. His eyes, though in shadow beneath the wide brim of his black hat, were fastened on her window.

An odd curling sensation slid through Emma’s stomach as she met his gaze. He lifted his hand and pushed back the brim of his hat with one tanned finger. Then, slowly, he brought the hand down and crooked the finger at her, beckoning.

Emma turned to her sister. “He wants me to go to him, Cissy. But Father will see me there. It’s too great a risk.”

“He wants you, Emma!” Cissy cried. “Oh, if he were Dirk, I’d go to him at once. I wouldn’t hesitate another moment.”

Emma looked outside again. Their father stood a few paces from Adam, talking with Nicholas and the stationmaster.

“I can’t.” She mouthed the words as she shook her head at Adam.

He frowned. Then he trained his focus on the railcar he had been riding in earlier. Turning to Emma again, he nodded in that direction.

She slid back against the leather seat and tried to think clearly. Adam wanted to talk to her. But her father would know at once.

The train whistle blew, and Emma tilted her head to the window. Adam was striding back across the platform, his silver spurs spinning in the afternoon sun.

“Did you not wish to take a turn about the station, Miss Pickering?” Nicholas asked, resuming his place beside her. His eyes held a warm light as he smiled at her. “It’s more than thirty miles to Tsavo.”

Emma returned his smile as the train jerked to life and began its swaying rhythm down the track. “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Bond. How far did we travel to reach Voi?”

“A little more than a hundred miles. It will be dark before we arrive at Tsavo. The sun sets promptly at six on the equator.”

Turning away to the window, Emma saw that the flat, dry terrain had begun to change back to thick woods. Tea arrived then, and Emma poured Nicholas a cup. As he sipped, he made another effort at conversation.

“Has your father told you about our plans for the Nairobi station?”

“Do tell us, Mr. Bond,” Cissy said.

“Nairobi is to be headquarters for the railway administration,” he told them. “The site is a high plain, more than three hundred miles from Mombasa. We mean to build roads, bridges, houses, workshops and turntables. We’ll lay in a water supply as well.”

“Will there be shops?” Cissy asked.

“We’ll have a regular bazaar, like the one in Mombasa. With new colonists arriving from England, I believe Nairobi may become a real town someday. And when the protectorate is made a colony of the Crown…”

As he spoke, Emma’s eyes wandered to the pink-tipped foliage and the golden clouds lining the horizon. The sun hung above it, a giant orange ball. Sounds of gentle snoring drifted over the seat. Her father’s snoring.

“Will you excuse me?” she blurted, rising to her feet and nearly upsetting the tea tray. “I believe I shall take a walk after all.”

Cissy gave her sister a knowing look, but Emma said nothing as she slid past Nicholas out into the aisle.

“Miss Pickering, shall I accompany you?” Nicholas stood. “The train’s swaying can be treacherous.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bond, but I’m quite accustomed to trains. Please carry on with your report on…what was the town you’ve planned?”

“Nairobi,” Cissy interjected, taking Nicholas by the arm and pulling him back onto the seat. “Yes, do tell me more of your plans for Nairobi. Such clever ideas.”

Emma gave her sister a grateful smile and hurried down the aisle. She glanced back once, but all she could see was Cissy’s bobbing ostrich plumes and her father’s top hat.

Pushing open the door to the outside of the railcar, she stepped onto a shuddering platform. A firm grip on the iron railing helped her balance as she worked her way between the cars. She held her breath against the soot-filled air, opened the second door and stepped inside.

Far more shabbily outfitted than the other car, this one was filled with cargo. Boxes and crates cluttered the seats and partially blocked the aisle, making her path difficult. She picked her way past bales of cloth, chests carved from camphor wood, folded cots, rickety chairs and rough-hewn tables. These must be the new colonists’ possessions. It would not be easy to live in this land, she thought as she reached the far end of the car, turned the door handle and stepped outside onto the next platform.

Again steadying herself against the iron railing, she tugged open the door to the next car. The sight that met her eyes forced out a sharp gasp. Foggy with tobacco smoke, the car was a jumble of broken bottles, top hats lying askew on the floor, button boots, umbrellas and morning coats. Sleeping men of every description sprawled on the seats. Others sat in groups, tossing playing cards onto tables. Over all, the smell of stale cigars and liquor filled the car while a strange plinking music drifted through the air.

Emma searched the car until she spotted Adam King perched on the tall back of a berth, a guitar resting on one thigh. He gazed out the window, his expression distant. Now
and then he strummed the instrument, humming along with the chords.

“I say, sir!” One of the men lifted a glass of ale into the air. “Have a drink and see if you can find something a bit more lively in that box of yours.”

“Don’t you cowboy chaps know any spirited songs?” another called out.

Adam waved off the proffered drink. “I reckon this is about all I’m good for this evening.”